


And She Never Wanted to Leave

by for_darkness_shows_the_stars



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Ahsoka Tano Needs a Hug, Blink And You Miss It PTSD, Gen, Introspection, Jedi Younglings - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:40:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23923996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/for_darkness_shows_the_stars/pseuds/for_darkness_shows_the_stars
Summary: On the leave from the war, Ahsoka visits the crèche.She comes to some unpleasant conclusions.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 85





	And She Never Wanted to Leave

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from the GOT song Jenny of Oldstones, the only decent thing to come out of s8 (sorry to anyone who liked it).
> 
> Hope you enjoy!!!

The Halls of the Temple have never seemed so empty before. But then again, it’s not like a galaxy-wide war is an everyday occurrence.

Being on leave is … strange. Every few minutes, Ahsoka forgets where she is, and she expects the droids to appear out of nowhere and start shooting. Her hand reflexively falls to rest on the hilt of her saber. It’s a habit she will have to train herself out of, if for no other reason than that it _scares_ her, how easy violence has become.

The echoing of her footsteps on the marble floors sends chills down Ahsoka’s spine. It’s not _supposed_ to be this way, she knows. The Temple is meant to be bursting with life and the Light of ten thousand beings of all imaginable species.

That is the Jedi Temple of her youth—and she is well aware of the irony of that statement. She is fourteen years old, yet she feels at least four times her age. The time when peace reigned the galaxy, and her people were diplomats and mediators seems like a long-forgotten dream.

She wonders what it was like, for the Padawans in the generations before hers. What it would be like her, if there wasn’t a war on.

The missions she and Anakin go to would constitute of attending negotiations, mediating disputes, making fun of stuffy diplomats behind their backs, representing the Republic …

And when they finished, she would be filled with a sense of purpose and joy, knowing she had done some good and helped bring peace.

There would be no staring at her hands numbly, convinced that they were covered in blood no matter how thoroughly she washed them, no whispering the names of the fallen troopers, her own prayer, her last, desperate tribute.

She relies more or less on muscle memory to find the crèche. The Master in charge gives her a relieved smile when they enter—there are deep shadows carved into the flesh beneath the Mirialan’s eyes, and her every move excludes weariness.

With so many Jedi called off to the front, there is only a skeleton crew managing the Order’s usual duties and internal affairs.

“Padawan Tano,” she says. “I am so glad you could join us.”

She tries to mask it as mere politeness, but Ahsoka is not fooled.

“I’m glad I could come,” she replies. “How are the little ones?”

The Mirialan Master opens her mouth to speak, but a small Mon Calamari boy clinging onto her leg beats her to it.

“I am not little!”

Ahsoka blinks. “Of course not.” She kneels on the floor so she could look the boy in the eye. “What’s your name?”

He cocks his head, big black eyes staring at her intently. His skin is salmon-pink, and it flushes dark now that he has the full strength of Ahsoka’s intention.

Still the boy is a Jedi, and Jedi fear nothing … or they shouldn't be, anyway. “Ba Olc.”

“It’s very good to meet you, Initiate Olc,” she says, perfectly serious, and extends a hand for the boy to shake. “My name is Ahsoka Tano.”

Ba’s eyes find the string of silka beads hanging from her headdress. “You’re a Padawan,” he breathes, both impressed and jealous.

“That’s right.” She smiles. “Will you take me to your friends, Initiate Olc?”

The Mon Calamari nods, and unlatches himself from the crèche master’s leg. He tugs Ahsoka by the hand she has given him, and leads her into the next chamber—a playroom, littered with toys and children.

“Guys,” Ba says, loudly, to draw the children’s attention. Ahsoka soon finds herself confronted with the wide eyes of over a dozen younglings. “This is Ahsoka Tano.” His tone drops, like he is giving away some great secret. “She is a Padawan.”

Just like with Ba, she feels the children’s respect for her increase.

“Hello,” she says, somewhat uncertainly, and lowers herself to the ground. “I’m Ahsoka.”

“I’m Winna,” the Twi’lek girl in the front says, and Ahsoka chuckles.

“It’s very good to meet you, Winna. Now … I’m here to help out Master Fay a bit, as she has to take care of all of you alone, and that’s hard work.”

“Are you really a Padawan?” a voice in the back says. It comes from a tiny Devaronian boy with soft horns and curious eyes.

She smiles, and reaches for her beads. The children follow the movements of her hands with breathless excitement.

“I am a Padawan learner to Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker,” she says, and watches the children’s eyes grow impossibly wide. Anakin has made quite a name for himself through his exploits on the field of battle. She’d be lying if she said that didn’t make her chest swell with pride.

“So, little ones,” she says, and receives a dark look from Ba that only serves to amuse her, “what are your plans for the future?”

“I’ll be a Padawan,” a little human girl says, hands fisted tightly with the strength of her conviction.

“Good choice. What about the others?”

The room echoes with the cries of a dozen younglings, all declaring their intentions of following in on Ahsoka’s footsteps.

“Really?” she says. “None of you want to join the service corps? Be healers, or teachers, or explorers?”

“Or farmers,” a disgusted voice says, but Ahsoka cann't pinpoint which of the children it belonges to.

“Or farmers,” she repeats, doing her best to make that option sound exciting. That is what she is supposed to do, right?

“But members of the service corps don’t get to fight in the war!” a Faleen child whines.

“Well, hopefully, by the time that you guys have to pick between the path of a Padawan and a member of the service corps, the war will already have been won.”

Winna’s face screwes up. “I hope not. I want to be a hero!” She looks up at Ahsoka, grinning. “Like your Master.”

“I …” she doesn’t know _what_ to say, _how_ to explain … “No, guys, _no_ ,” she tries anyway. “Me, Anakin, the rest of the Jedi … we fight in this war because we have to—to protect the citizens of the Republic, to protect _you_.”

“I’m going to be the best general of all,” she hears a small Nautolan boy whose headtails barely reach his chin. “My clones are gonna paint their armour purple, because that’s my favourite colour.”

“I’m going to kill more droids than Master Windu and Master Yoda combined,” a Theelin girl proclaims confidently.

Ahsoka can do nothing but stare at them in horror. Is this what the Jedi Order has come to? Do their children aspire to be warriors, now?

“That’s not what Jedi are,” she tells them desperately. “That’s not what we are supposed to do!”

Winna frowns. “But you’re Commander Tano.”

“I …” Ahsoka tries, “I wouldn’t be if it weren’t my duty. War … war is not …”

The children don’t seem deterred.

“Tell us a story,” the Theelin from before asks. “Something from the front? Please?”

“Don’t … don’t you want to hear something else? Anything?”

A loud _no_ thunders through the children, and Ahsoka watches in astonishment.

“Well … once when we were sent to …”

They listen with attentiveness she didn’t think children capable of, gasp loudly whenever something exciting happens, clap their tiny hands together when the villains are vanquished, and the Jedi emerge victorious.

“I’m gonna be just like that,” Ba whispers to Winna when he thinks Ahsoka can’t hear, but the Togruta’s hearing is superior to most other species.

She looks at those children, future _Jedi_ , future peacekeepers and diplomats, future mediators and negotiators.

Future soldiers.

A cold chill crawls up and down her spine, and she has to supress a shiver.

Stars … what is happening to them all?


End file.
